The Sheriff Debate
by Alowl
Summary: Grindlewald found it far too much of a hassle to keep Percival Graves on hand. He wiped his memories instead, and dumped him in a little town in the middle of nowhere - just in case he needed the man later on. Six months later, Percival Graves runs for the office of Sheriff of Night Vale.


The Sheriff Debate

The desert owl hoots. The cactus flowers rustle. The neighbors have been arrested for malicious loitering.

Welcome - to Night Vale.

(Instrumental).

Today marks the final day of elections for the position of Sheriff. And what an election it has been! Who could forget the opening race across the dessert? The bloody footprints of the participants as they ran, neck and neck, across the Sand Wastes? Each man - and woman, and being of indeterminate and purposefully obscure gender, species, and denomination - carried forward by the courage of their convictions and the sniper rounds snapping at their heels.

In a completely unanticipated turn of events, the man in a red balaclava who we all suspect is the sheriff has faced unexpected competition from new Night Vale resident and sheriff candidate Mister Graves. Mister Graves – that's Mister with an _i,_ not an _r_ – has only recently arrived in our lovely desert community, but he has already proven himself to be a true citizen of Night Vale. He just had the misfortune to be born outside city limits, but if you slice him open, I'm sure that the name of our home is written on his heart. Figuratively, not literally. Don't do that, because there will be a lot of blood and a lot of screaming and then the Sheriff's Secret Police will have to arrest you and charge you with murder, and we'll have to get a jury, and it'll just be a hassle.

This is the first time that not one, but _two_ candidates for Sheriff have ever reached this point in the Sheriff Trials. I know because I sent Intern Karen down to take a look at municipal records, and usually most of the other candidates – if there are any – have quit or been killed by this stage. Today marks a completely new event – we've never gotten to do this before – the Sheriff Debates. I can see that you're curious. What _is_ a Sheriff Debate? We've never needed one before!

Well, I sent Intern Karen down to poke around City Hall and ask a few questions. And it turns out that in a Sheriff Debate, we get to ask the two Sheriff Candidates questions! And then we vote based on how they respond. Incidentally, I don't think we've _ever_ been able to _vote_ for who we want to be the Sheriff before! I'm sure it'll be quite the experience!

Here's a little bit of background while they gather enough ground meat to build two separate podiums. As you all know, the man in a red balaclava who we all suspect to be the Sheriff has been the suspected Sheriff longer then anyone else in Night Vale history. We don't know his name, his face, where he lives, his telephone number, or exactly what he does – but we know he's done a lot for us, right? The Sheriff's secret police are indispensible to the fair and organized running of our town, and we'd all be lost without them. And I'm not just saying that because one of them gave me a map last year after my car got ticketed with the word 'parking lot' scribbled over the cactus grove between the Ralph's and Dark Owl Records. They've helped us so much, and, presumably, it's all thanks to the man in the red balaclava who we all suspect is the Sheriff.

Mister Graves, in turn, is a more recent member of our community. I mean, I think. We don't really know how long the man in the red balaclava who we all suspect is the Sheriff has been here. Mister Graves, however, arrived in Night Vale six months ago, tied up – quite professionally, I've been told – stuffed in a sack, with a gag thrust between his teeth. He was immediately granted citizenship – the City Counsel apparently agreed that anyone _that_ polite _deserved_ to be a citizen. His integration into the town has only been strengthened by the fact of his near-complete amnesia – apparently, he can only remember his name. Nonetheless, he has done a _superb_ job as the new daycare center employee – as his employers, who have declined to be identified – whispered to me, the little tots all _love_ Mister Graves. As do their older siblings, who have taken to hanging around the building after school lets out. Apparently, no one does the voices like Mister Graves does during storytelling, and his bloodstone circle chants are a thing of _beauty._ And let us not forget that in the time he's been employed at the daycare, their weekly firearms drills, parades, and attack scores have reached an all-time high – apparently, Mister Graves has a positive _gift_ for teaching!

But will his experience leading an army of toddlers be enough to win the position of Sheriff? We'll find out shortly – Intern Karen reports that the Sheriff debates are about to begin!

Karen says that before the first inquiry could be made, the man in the red balaclava who we all suspect to be the Sheriff harrumphed, said that there was no way Mister Graves could ever be Sheriff, refused to answer any questions, crossed his arms, and – we think – pouted. Accordingly, all of the questions were instead directed at Mister Graves.

Intern Karen says that the first question was this: 'Why do you want to be Sheriff?' Mister Graves apparently didn't hesitate in his response.

"Because Night Vale deserves better. The current Sheriff isn't doing his job – the Sheriff's Secret Police are poorly equipped and poorly trained." Here he paused, and looked at the crowd. "How many people know that the Sheriff's Secret Police wear balaclavas?" Well, obviously we all do, and the crowd said as much. Mister Graves nodded. "That isn't very secret. Everyone knows what the Sheriff's Secret Police look like. Everyone knows that you can find a member of the Sheriff's Secret Police if you whistle into a rain gutter or fall down a sewer pipe accidentally, or scream bloody vengeance at the moon in the middle of a bloodstone circle on Wednesday. _That_ isn't very secret. And who here can tell me what a member of the Sheriff's _non-_ secret police look like?"

And here we all paused. Because I can't remember the last time I saw a non-Secret Police officer. I mean, really. What do they even look like?

Mister Graves was – well, grave. He nodded. "The Sheriff's Secret police needs more funds. Better equipment. Extensive treatment. Thanks to my experience leading the daycare, I'm prepared to deal with all of the above."

And, well, you have to admit that he's got a point there. The daycare has never looked better!

The next question: 'You have amnesia. How can you even _be_ Sheriff?"

Mister Graves paused for a moment before answering. "Well, I've actually read a book about the law." And I can't decide admitting that he _read_ an actual book is bravery or audacity. "And," he continued, "My lack of memory really is an advantage. Because I don't know who I was before I came to Night Vale. I could be anyone. A lawyer. A used car salesman. A thief. A mayor. Your uncle. Your cousin. Your brother. Anyone. And if I could be anyone, I could be you. Yes, you heard me right. I could be _you_. And who would be better as Sheriff then you?" And the crowd all nodded, because of course they would be awesome as Sheriff. Even if they never wanted to be Sheriff, of course. Because who would want to be Sheriff? It's a lot of hard work!

The last question – because there are only three questions allowed in a Sheriff debate, according to the degree the City Council passed hastily in their secret meeting in the secret bunker at the very last minute before midnight yesterday. 'What's the first thing you would you do as Sheriff?'

Mister Graves has obviously been thinking about this. "Arrest the City Council. Did you know they haven't paid their taxes in sixty-two years?"

I did not know this, listeners. And neither did the rest of the crowd. And neither had the City Council, judging by the loud yammering and unintelligible groans of sensory deprivation vibrating from City Hall. Can you imagine? Not paying the taxes? The taxes which the City Council raise as a matter of principle every tax season? That's just not nice.

Now that the Sheriff Debate had been concluded, we now proceed to the last remaining stage of the election – the trial by combat. As the challenger, Mister Graves gets to pick the weapons, and – what's this? Intern Karen, slow down, I can't – I can't make out what you're saying. What did you say –

Oh no.

Listeners. Listeners, I can barely believe it, but Mister Graves has picked Trial by _Librarian_.

Mister Graves has challenged the man in the red balaclava we all suspect to be the Sheriff to walk with him into – into the Library. The first man to emerge alive with a copy of the Constitution of the United States of America will be the new Sheriff. And – can he do that? Intern Karen, can he do that?

According to intern Karen, who just watched the City Counsel turn themselves inside out before vanishing in a puff of space-time, Mister Graves can do that.

They're walking towards the Library now. Side by side. Mister Graves – Mister Graves is not trembling. Mister Graves is not sweating. Mister Graves looks – slightly annoyed? Maybe it's because the man in the red balaclava who we all suspect is the Sheriff is sweating and trembling, and probably crying, judging by the wet stains on his balaclava. They're getting closer to the door now. Closer. Closer.

The air has gone quiet. They're almost there, and – Mister Graves has stretched out his hand. Mister Graves has put his hand on the doorknob. Mister Graves is _turning the doorknob -_

And the man in the red balaclava who we all secretly suspect to be the Sheriff – is gone. He turned and fled when Mister Graves stepped inside the looking black portal that leads into the Library. And – I'm confused. Can Mister Graves _be_ Sheriff now? I mean, the man in the red balaclava who may or may not be the Sheriff has forfeited his place as Sheriff by turning and running for the Dark Owl Music Records store, but can Mister Graves even _be_ Sheriff if a Librarian has torn him inch by well-dressed inch?

Citizens of Night Vale. To the family, friends, students, and co-workers of Mister Graves, I am sad to announce the passing of a fine man. He was – he was not a man I knew well. But he was a good man. A great man, daring to enter the Library because he believed in the law. Because he had a dream of a Sheriff's Secret Police who were truly secret. Who believed, to his last breath, in the Constitution of the United States of America. Night Vale – everyone – in honor of Mister Graves, I take you now –

To the weather.

(Music plays.)

Listeners. Listeners, I cannot believe it, but – Mister Graves is alive!

He walked through the door of the Library, a copy of the Constitution proudly clutched in one hand. His suit was impeccable. His stern expression was untamed. He was – he was pristine! Listeners, we have a new Sheriff! Mister Graves – no. No, Sheriff Graves nodded seriously at the crowds cheering his name and demanding to know how he did it, how did he do that!

"I like to read." Sheriff Graves admitted dolorously. What a brave man to share such a weakness! "I brought my copy of _Little Women_ with me. And when the Librarians swarmed me, I told them that the building was not up to code, and offered to get them the appropriate documents to fill out. They're still working on those, actually."

What steadfast courage. What manipulative cunning. Listeners, let me be the first to welcome Sheriff Graves.

The future is truly bright. The future is truly clouded. But listeners – it is up to us to decide which of these the future truly is. It is, of course, both. And sometimes it's not. Sometimes, the future is a past that can't be remembered. Sometimes, it's a ravenous Librarian descending upon you, claws outstretched. And always – always. It's up to you to decide what it's supposed to be. Personally, I'd avoid the future with the Librarians, but that's just me.

Stay turned for details on the hooded and robes figures who attempted to swarm Sheriff Graves before the Sheriff conclusively proved that these figures were _not_ the same hooded figures that live in the forbidden dog park. They were promptly swarmed by outraged Night Vale citizens before being driven from our town in shameful defeat. And as always, good night, Night Vale.

Good Night.


End file.
